#Morfran O'Byrne

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Because tumblr hates fun and nudity, I can only show you all part of the amazing and striking commission I got from @soddingcloudgazer of my OC Morfran O’Byrne and my friend @celticaurora‘s OC, Alexandra O’Byrne nee Dunkirk. Good Lord, they look so endearing and sweet here and I love every little bit of it. They got the happy ending they deserved as well as a better life together compared the ones they had as kids and in the earlier years of adulthood.

Thank you, @soddingcloudgazer, for bringing this lovely and vivid work of art of these two characters to life! You captured them and their love so well in this moment and I can’t stop smiling every time I look at this commission. <3 <3

Full view of this stunning commission can be seen here, on my pillowfort account: https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1531676

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OCtober: Day Thirteen

Day 13: Hurt/Injured

I’m going use one of my older OCs form my Van Helsing RPs for this. Introducing Morfran O’Bryne, my cynical, emotionless, and sanguinary assassin who can communicate and control ravens at will. He is also an Elementist (some who controls fire, water, earth, and wind but with a limited range) with the rare gift of being also able to manipulate metal.  

(Art made by @drathe​)

At a very young age, Morfran was taught not to show any signs that he was in pain or injured, he was suppose to mask his emotions and soldier through until there was time to tend to his wounds. Over the years, from childhood to adulthood, Morfran has been injured but those instances have happened less and less when he got older and learned how to control his abilities. If he needs a quick fix, he will use his control over fire to cauterize his wounds and press onward. He has been so accustomed to ignoring his pain and physical health for the sake of an assassination or mission that such negligence often comes to bite him in the ass later. Like the one time he nearly passed out from blood loss and could have died if his raven buddies didn’t find a nearby doctor who could clean and fix his injuries at their home, no questions asked. 

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“From the moment I was born, I was viewed to be nothing more than a tool, a means to an end, to my own family. A future human killing machine that could bring our enemies to their knees. They never bothered to ask me what I wanted, for a weapon doesn’t have an opinion. Or emotions, for that matter.”

I got this nifty and beautiful headshot from @drathe and I wanted to give some love to an old OC of mine: Morfran O’Byrne from my days in the Van Helsing RPs. He’s an Elementist who was given the gift to communicate with ravens. So ever since he was a young boy being trained to become his family’s new personal assassin, the ravens he talked to were the only friends he had. And yes, he did give them names–some more morbid than others.  

Thank you, @drathe, for this wonderful gift! I love it so much! :D

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My Main Van Helsing RP OCs as John Mulaney Quotes

Egil Swenhaugen:

Sigrid Swenhaugen:

Rolf Dunklestein:

Gabriele Van Helsing/Toquet: 

Morfran O’Byrne:

Thanatos Wakahisa:

@mllecomtessedelafere, look, I made a thing. XD

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I NEED MORFRAN IN AN UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATER LIKE I NEED OXYGEN.

Why am I not surprised by this request? XD

Thank you for the ask, @mllecomtessedelafere. I also included another Morfran/Aleksandra prompt here because somehow, it ended up working:

Also, Morfran/Aleksandra and “that’s not supposed to bend that way”

Enjoy! :D

Aleksandra tried to be so nervous or affrighted when Fenrir and a few more of Morfran’s ravens came fluttering into their home, squawking up a storm. He was due to return from his assignment any moment now and since some of his ravens came back before him, seemingly in a tizzy, their arrival was unwelcoming, morbid omen. After all, Morfran’s work was dangerous but he always came home. 

But what if today was the day he didn’t?

Aleksandra squashed that unwonted musing aside, focusing her attention on Fenrir, who hopped about and nearly screeched to communicate with her. “Fenrir–is Morfran alive? Is my husband safe?” Terror cleaved to her words, her tone high and hysterical. 

Fenrir gave his a head a little bob, a motion she knew for certain was a “yes”. Whatever caused his ravens or him alarm to send a group of his trusted birds back to her, at least Morfran lived to fight another day. Still, he was trying to deliver her a message but she couldn’t decipher the ravens’ jerky, strange movements.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait too long for answers. About half an hour since some of her husband’s raven regiment returned home, the rest of them arrived, followed by the door banging open, displaying a disheveled, bruised, and bloodied Morfran, who limped into the foyer. Aleksandra’s heart lept to her throat.   

“Morfran!” she cried out, rushing to the Elementist blade-for-hire, who collapsed on the sofa nearby His left leg was torn and besmirched, dried blood poking out from the shredded legpants of his trousers. It was then she noticed the odd angle of his ankle and the makeshift splint enclosed around his foot and calf. “Oh my God! Your leg…that’s not suppose to bed that way!”

“You think?” groused Morfran, gold eyes momentarily closed as she shrugged off his coat, grimacing as he slowly peeled off his boots. “Sorry if Fenrir and the others worried. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it home in time so I sent them ahead of me to warn you.”

“It wasn’t them that gave me a fright but their frantic, concerned antics,” she informed him, inwardly wincing at all the lacerations littering his legs and torso. “Morfran, how long have you been like this? I thought the assignment was a bodyguard job, not an assassination!” 

“It was, until the opposing man who my employer was worried about decided to kill rather than parley, revealing himself to be a rogue werewolf. Had a few loyal lycans I had to kill before escaping with my life. My client, it turned out, knew of the man’s true nature and desired this gift of lycanthropy. So he only hired me as fodder for those wretches.” His timbre was so toneless and indifferent, like the betrayal didn’t faze him at all. Since his own family members ruined his childhood and life as well as returned his bloody services with more treachery, Aleksandra doubted a stranger’s attempt to sell him out would provoke the slightest bit of rage inside her husband.  

“Do any of them live?”

He shook his head, a satisfied sneer forming on his chapped lips. “None. They became food for my ravens.”

“Good.” She glanced back at his injuries, not needing to examine them herself to know how serious several of them were. “I’m going to ring for a physician–you need to have that leg and ankle checked at!”

“Duly noted.” Morfran tore off the remnants of his shirt, frowning at the sordid ordor deriving from his tattered clothing and dirty physique. He hadn’t had a chance to bathe since the ambush, for he spent most of his time trying to get home and to his wife, wounded ankle or leg be damned. Besides, the splint he created helped and he was able to hail a carriage on the way home. He was fortunate. “God, I need a bath. A new pair of clothes.”

“You can say that again,” chimed in his wife, the worry on her fair, beautiful features relaxing a little. He loathed to give her such cause for concern. 

Much to his chagrin, Aleksandra had to help to get into the bath due to his likely broken ankle. She wanted to stay and help wash the excess grime and blood yet that was a task Morfran craved for himself. But he didn’t mind the company so she stayed in the bathing chamber, just in case. 

Once he was properly washed and didn’t smell like death, the two of them went o the bedroom for a fresh pair of clean clothes. However, he wasn’t expecting his wife to pull out that godawful Christmas sweater her uncle got him last year, partly because she told his uncle-in-law she believed he’d look “cute” in one. Even though the temperature outside was decreasing and becoming chilly in Italy during Christmastime, he still would not wear that abomination again. He glowered at the offending article of clothing. “I am not wearing that. It’s hideous.” 

Aleksandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s the point of them–they’re suppose to be fun and ugly. Besides, I think you pull off this sweater quite well.” Morfran skeptically eyed the over-sized, vibrant green Christmas tree in the center of the sweater, littered with variously colored ornaments and fuzzy garland encircling the tree itself. The star on top lit up and the alarmingly bright red background color of the sweater simply made everything worse. The assassin also did not care for the striped candy cane patterns along the long sleeves. 

“I fail to see why I have to wear that. I have other shirts that are more than enough to keep me warm.”

“Yes, but you only wore this sweater once and since Alexsei will be visiting us soon to check on your injuries after the town physician  is through with you, he’d be thrilled to see you wearing his last year’s Christmas present.”

“The one you told him I would like,” the Elementist grumbled, begrudgingly taking the horrid sweater from a now beaming Aleksandra’s hands once she witnessed his capitulation. He was too weary to argue with her anyway. Thus, he slipped on the Christmas sweater and refrained from grimacing. “Happy now?”  

“Yes. Positively ecstatic.” She kissed his brow, still smiling. “Now rest, Morfran. I’ll let you know when the doctor gets here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice. Sleep was already calling my name even when I got here.” Returning the kiss by pecking her cheek, Morfran limped towards their chambers, his wife close behind in case he should stumble or trip and wound his already inflicted ankle and leg even more so. When they reached the bedroom, he cut her a reassuring half-smile as he sat down on the bed. “I’ll be fine now, Aleksandra. I’ll take it easy and get some rest. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

The blonde werewolf shot him an amused look. “Morfran, I always worry, even if it’s just a little bit. I know you feel the same regarding me.” She placed a consoling, gentle hand on his shoulder and in an instant, his shoulders began to relax, the tension leaving his muscles. She was right, he would never stop being concerned, and her uncle was the same way. After all, it was normal. 

“All right, but I’m fine now.” he said, easing himself under the covers while ruthlessly tugging at his ugly Christmas sweater--God, he couldn’t wait ti take it off before the physician arrived! “Everything will be fine.”

Even though his wife appeared slightly unsure--no doubt fretting how badly damaged he was from the werewolf battle--, she nodded her head and wished him a deep rest, kissing him one more time prior she quitted the chamber. Morfran’s amber eyes finally closed when he heard the door was firmly shut behind her. Despite all the hellish days he went through from that most recent assignment, the agony was worth it, now that he was home and Aleksandra continued to be safe and sound. She was worth everything.    

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22. C:

I’m assuming this is for the OC Description Meme as well. Going with Morfran, one of my older OCs from the Van Helsing RP, for this. 

22: The way sunlight shines in their eye.

In the shadows, Morfran’s amber eyes always stick out, alarming and penetrating through the darkness like a predator’s gaze. The stark contrast is harsh, even more so when you connect the eyes to the man himself. But when the sun’s rays melt across his face, spreading delicately over his check and the five o’clock shadow sneaking across his jaw, his eyes take on a new luster. The amber in them is lit aflame, now appearing like molten golden, searing and rich. The sunlight does not make Morfran seem more inviting, just more human and less like an assassin. But daylight does often make it seem like his brilliant eyes have absorbed the power of the sun for themselves. For making eye contact with him could prove deadly. 

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Ragnarok asks #25!

25. Character A: “Surprise!”

Character B: *throws a soda can at them*

Character A: Rolf Dunklestein

Character B: Morfran O’Byrne. Egil would either glare at Rolf or ignore him. XD

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"My compassion is not weakness", "my past does not define me", and "my calm hides a storm"

1. The “my compassion” line so describes my Fallout Courier Natia Yilmaz. Despite having a rough childhood and cut-throat, rather dark adulthood down in New Vegas when she was trying to make a living, she found light and kindness everywhere she went, even if she had look really hard and deep to find it. So Natia never sees what’s wrong in offering compassion to others, especially in dark times or their hour of need because she knows what it’s like, she’s been there before. She will fight anyone who says she weak because of her kindness when she knows differently--her compassion provides strength not only to herself but to others as well.

2. The “my past does not to define me” line screams Morfran O’Byrne to me. For years he had lived under the shadow of his mother’s family, being their perfect assassin and killing machine until he snapped when his parents were killed before his eyes--a punishment from his so-called family. After freeing himself from their shackles and living on his own terms really opened his eyes that his family and whatever he did in the past doesn’t have to be him any more, he can be his own man. And meeting Alexandra really honed and drove that lesson into Morfran even further. There was no need to dwell in the past any longer.  

3. The “my calm hides a storm” is so Egil Swenhaugen. As you know, he’s an unflappable, stoic man who doesn’t lose his temper a whole lot. And he rarely displays his rage. But when he does get angry and unleashes it, it’s a storm. An icy, merciless, and turbulent storm that will suck the soul and willpower out of you and maybe even your life as well, if you crossed him greatly. When he rages, people hide because it’s a terrifying sight to behold. 

Thanks for the great ask, @celticwildechild!